


Back Chat

by teacass (Fushigi)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Businessman Dean, Dean/Cas Tropefest, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gym, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, Locked In, M/M, Misunderstandings, Online Relationship, Tinder, Two Person Love Triangle, dating app, deancastropefest, herbalist Castiel, working out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fushigi/pseuds/teacass
Summary: Castiel doesn’t have a lot of luck when it comes to romance. He downloads Tinder on a whim and soon finds out it’s not any easier in the virtual world. He’s about to give up completely when a miracle happens: someone keeps talking to him even after Cas explicitly says he doesn’t want to date. As days go by and Cas and the man continue to chat, Cas begins to question his own rules.—Dean’s life is simple: work, gym, weekend, rinse, repeat. He’s not really an expert, but he doesn’t have any qualms about chatting people up as he works out. At least not until he tries to offer well-meant advice to a blue-eyed hottie in shorts and gets shot down – turns out the guy is a real jerk. Unfortunately, that’s only the beginning of their new spiteful relationship.—What Cas and Dean don’t realise is that they have two things in common: they both go to the same local gym and they both have a very good friend on Tinder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends!  
>  I can't believe I'm finally posting this story! Seems to me I've been working on it forever. I'm happy to let it go now, though!  
>  As usual, a few thank yous:  
>  \- To the mods, for staying strong and amazing despite anything; thank you for Tropefest, guys! No one could do what you do  
>  \- To my wonderful, wonderful beta, Lauren, as always – your help is invaluable and prepositions suck  
>  \- To the entire chat room – you know who you are, and I probably wouldn't be where I am without you. You inspire me every day!  
>  \- And finally, to Busy, who is a GODDAMN SUPERHERO and I would scream about it from the top of the mountain if I could. Just check out all the wonderful art pieces she created for this story! [(art masterpost here)](https://bs-acorns.tumblr.com/post/184582284573) I am beyond amazed and in love with all she does. Go shower her with love she deserves!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

## Chapter 1

It’s Thursday afternoon when Castiel gets back from work and finds a wedding invitation waiting for him. It’s the third one this year, he thinks, and when he opens it and reads through it, he can already imagine the questions.

_Where’s your plus one, Castiel?_

_Are you here with anyone? Oh, great, do you want to meet my daughter?_

_Don’t worry, Cas, you won’t be the only single person at the reception! I think my cousin Betty is coming alone too. I promise she’s nice!_

He brushes his hand over the plus one options. He isn’t looking for anyone and he’s mostly alright with being single, but it gets tiring to always be the one without a partner at events like this. And it does make him wonder – what would it be like to go with someone at least once in his lifetime? It wouldn’t even have to be anyone that important; after all, many people attend weddings with friends or random hook-ups. Not that it would be so easy for Castiel – he’s pretty sure he’s way too awkward for that to ever happen, and he doesn’t think he even has a friend he could take. Balthazar may love weddings, but Cas would rather go alone than take him and endure all the embarrassing questions people would ask if they saw him with Balthazar. And Hannah hates dancing even more than Castiel does.

Then he remembers a story his friends told him, about someone taking a date from Tinder to a wedding and then ending up marrying that same person. It certainly doesn’t sound like something that could happen to Castiel, but would it hurt to try?

Cas pushes the invitation aside for now – he still has time to send out his answer – and then reaches for his phone and downloads Tinder.

It’s ridiculous, really. Castiel is unable to form any lasting romantic relationships in real life, so what makes him think online relationships are going to be any better? He honestly has no idea, but he registers anyway. It’s not like he has anything left to lose. 

The app is quite simple, and soon enough Cas is self-consciously looking through the few photos of himself that he actually has. When he doesn't find anything he’s comfortable sharing, he uploads a picture of him holding his ginger cat, Freddie, in front of his face. Then, he tries to think of a short but interesting description for his profile. It’s surprisingly difficult – everything he writes seems either too pretentious or too boring, so he ends up typing in “I don’t really understand how this whole ‘dating thing’ works,” then closes the app and hides his phone under the pillow, scared to even look at anything the app has to offer. 

The wedding invitation ends up on top of the other two.

When he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t even remember to check the app. It’s only when he’s drinking coffee and browsing the news on his phone that he gets a notification about the number of people that apparently checked out his profile during the night. He can feel himself blushing nervously as he opens the app, and is shocked to see he’s also got a few dozen likes and three messages.

“What am I doing,” he mutters and shoves the phone into his pocket without checking the messages.

He can’t stop thinking about it, though, and ends up reading all of them on his way to work. Two messages simply say “Hi” and the other says “You’re gorgeous, wanna meet” — and they’re all from women. 

That’s when he realises he must have forgotten to specify his interests.

He only receives messages from men afterwards, but he doesn’t reply to any of them. He simply ignores those only asking for a hookup and mutes a few asking for nude photos. Some seem interesting, just like the men sending them, but Castiel has no idea what to say. He dislikes small talk, and he can’t think of anything interesting to say about himself, and he knows how apps like this work — if he isn’t able to catch someone within the first few messages, it’s a lost cause. 

Which is why he stays silent and lurks.

***

It doesn’t get any more exciting as time goes by, at least not until Cas gets drunk one night when he goes out with friends. On his way home he stupidly decides to answer the few most recent messages. The alcohol makes him braver and more confident than he actually is, and he doesn’t even have to think too hard about what to say — he just says it.

> simonlikesbar: _hey there_
> 
> catstiel: _hello! how are you_
> 
> __ 
> 
> big_tony: _hi handsome :D wanna chat :D_
> 
> catstiel: _hello! what should we chat about?_
> 
> __ 
> 
> mrbushy: _you should upload a pic of ur face if you wanna get anyone to like u_
> 
> catstiel: _hello! My face is there. It’s just not visible :)_

At first, no one replies to him. Cas spends the rest of his ride home browsing through what the app has to offer, recklessly swiping left and right and chuckling at some of the more ridiculous photographs. He’s getting out of the Uber when his phone pings, notifying him about a new message.

> mrbushy: _ur sassy. I like that. wanna meet?_
> 
> catstiel: _I literally just got home from a night out :)_
> 
> mrbushy: _the nights still young ;) we should meet_
> 
> catstiel: _how about we get to know each other better first and then think about meeting? Let me begin. What’s your name? I’m Cas. nice to meet you!_

Cas can’t believe he’s writing these words, but there’s a silly smile on his face when he taps ‘send’ and tucks his phone into his pocket. He unlocks the door (only a little clumsily), pets Freddie for a few moments, and then falls into his bed, still with his jacket on. He has to get up and at least take a quick shower (he reeks of cigarette smoke from the bar) but it won’t hurt if he spends a few more minutes having his first actual conversation on Tinder.

The phone pings again and Cas smiles as he unlocks it and reads the message.

> mrbushy: _are u here just to chat? bc im not really into that_

Oh.

Sighing, Castiel sits up on the bed as he types out his reply.

> catstiel: _Oh. I don’t do one night stands. Sorry I wasn’t more specific before :(_
> 
> mrbushy: _its cool. just not my thing_
> 
> catstiel: _it was fun chatting with you anyway! Hope you have a good night_
> 
> mrbushy: _yeah thanks_
> 
> mrbushy: _bye_

Deflated and suddenly feeling much more sober, Cas closes the chat window and returns to his profile. He deletes the one sentence he’d written before on his profile and only writes “I’m not interested in casual hook-ups, so don’t waste your time.”

Then he closes the app with a huff and gets up to take a shower.

***

Cas should have already accepted the fact that he’s probably not destined to be in an actual, loving, long-lasting relationship. He should be okay with that. He usually _is_ okay with that. He’s got a loving family and great friends, he’s got a job he loves, he’s got his own apartment, a cat, good credit history. He knows, deep down, that he doesn’t really _need_ anyone else in his life to feel complete.

It’s just that, sometimes, it gets lonely.

Like when he goes out with friends and realises that he’s the only one without a significant other. Everyone else is either already settled down, thinking about settling down, or being as far from settling down as possible and just ploughing through a crowd of casual girlfriends and boyfriends. He’s neither. Doesn’t have a partner, doesn’t have a potential partner, and doesn’t have anyone to go home to except for his cat. He hasn’t slept with anyone since… he can’t even remember. He’s actually scared to admit out loud it’s probably been a few years. 

Or like when he goes to one of the weddings he was invited to – the first one, even before he downloaded Tinder and started to consider bringing someone with him. He attends this one alone, as usual. He doesn’t care for dancing all that much, but it gets pretty lonely when he’s left by himself at the table and can only watch all the other couples on the dancefloor. He doesn’t even get asked to dance by anyone – not by any woman, let alone by a man. When he gets home that night, he hopelessly opens the app, stares at the few unopened messages, and deletes them all without thinking. He knows there’s no point pretending to be able to find anyone online, not when he can’t do it in real life. He should probably finally RSVP to the third wedding invitation… but he finds himself unable to check the “no plus one” option. He shouldn’t give up hope just yet, not while he still has time. Who knows, maybe Tinder will allow him to find at least a good friend and he’ll be able to invite them along. Just this one time.

At least he still has his cat.

***

He’s almost done with work one day when his phone makes a loud sound from where it’s lying on his desk. Cas hears it even from outside and gets up from his knees, cleaning his hands on the back of his work pants. He can finish up tomorrow, he considers as he walks into the office. It’s getting late anyway.

He’s more than surprised when he notices the tiny fire icon on his screen. It’s been almost two weeks since he received any messages on Tinder; he had almost forgotten about the app altogether.

More curious than nervous now, he opens the app and taps at the icon.

> impala67: _Hi. Nice face, Garfield_

Despite himself, Cas smiles down at his phone. In the past, he’s gotten a few messages referring to or asking about Freddie and they were always much easier to reply to than any other. Before he can stop himself, he clicks on the username, which brings him to impala67’s profile page. He barely remembers swiping right and he can’t even remember what made him decide the guy was worth it. It’s not like there’s a lot on his profile – the blurry photo shows a guy in dark sunglasses leaning against a car, and the ‘about me’ section mentions liking pie, rock music, and long walks on the beach. Then Cas notices that apparently the guy has green eyes and yes, there it is. That must have been the reason.

So he has a type. Sue him.

Before he can reply, the guy messages him again.

> impala67: _I can see you’re online. Stop being a Puss and write something_
> 
> impala67: _Hello? Kitty?_

Cas can’t help it; he laughs out loud.

> catstiel: _Ha ha. Very furry._
> 
> impala67: _Yes! He speaks!_
> 
> impala67: _Also, that was good. I think I’m all out of cat puns_
> 
> impala67: _Actually, SCRATCH that_
> 
> impala67: _What are you doing right MEOW?_

Shaking his head, Cas plops down on his chair, already typing in his response.

> catstiel: _Just getting off work. What about you?_
> 
> impala67: _I can get you off later if you want_

Cas cringes, feeling his heart sink. And it had started so well.

> catstiel: _I’m sorry, not interested._
> 
> impala67: _In getting off or in me?_
> 
> catstiel: _In one night stands._
> 
> impala67: _Who said anything about one night?_

Cas closes his eyes for a moment. He has no idea how other people do it – how they can be so brave that they can just go out with a person they don’t even know, just to have fun. He wishes he could try it, at least once, just to know how it feels.

Not this time, it seems.

> catstiel: _I’m sorry. I just don’t feel comfortable meeting someone I don’t know, at least not without getting to know them better first. Hope you don’t mind._
> 
> impala67: _I think you meant ‘comfurtable’_
> 
> impala67: _Okay that was terrible I apologize_

Cas smiles. 

> catstiel: _It wasn’t that bad :)_
> 
> impala67: _OK. Sorry for bothering you then. Have a good night, Salem_

It’s horrible.

Cas sits motionless for at least a few minutes, staring down at his phone and fighting with himself. He could just risk it. He could agree to the offer and at least go and meet this guy. He has no real plans for the night, other than his workout, getting dinner, and then getting into his empty bed with a book. Meeting this guy wouldn't have to mean sleeping with him, right? He could always just say no. 

He could do it.

Other people do it. It can’t be that hard.

He looks at the messages. The guy seems to be offline already. He probably lost all interest. Why wouldn’t he? Cas had explicitly told him he wasn’t interested.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Well, he can at least be civil about the whole thing and say goodbye properly.

> catstiel: _Sorry again. I wish you good luck!_

He should just delete the app and get it over with.

***

When Cas gets home later that night and checks his phone, he’s surprised to find a new message from the guy on Tinder.

> impala67: _No hard feelings, dude_

Feeling restless, Cas plugs his phone into his charger and goes to the kitchen. He feeds Freddie, prepares a meal and tea for himself, eats and cleans – all while trying not to think about possible responses to the Tinder guy. That conversation is over, he keeps telling himself. He has already said no and the guy has accepted that. There’s no point in giving him any hope, especially since Cas would probably ruin this even if they did meet eventually. 

He manages to stay away from his phone the whole evening and is quite proud of himself for not responding before he goes to bed, no matter how hard he’s thinking about it. 

He’s strong.

He can do it.

He’s almost asleep, already thinking about the next day’s plans, when the perfect answer springs to his mind – way too perfect to be ignored.

Cas groans as he reaches for his phone in the dark. Squinting at the bright screen, he quickly types out:

> catstiel: _I think you meant ‘no hard felines.’_

His heart starts beating faster when he immediately notices the three dots as the guy writes his response. Even though Cas told him no, he’s still there talking to him.

It’s incredible.

What’s even more incredible is that they end up chatting well into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2

When Dean hits the gym that evening, he’s in a good mood, the kind that nothing and no one can ruin. He smiles at the girls at the reception desk, greets the guys he meets in the locker room. It’s been a good day – both at work and outside of work. The weather was nice. Lunch was great. The conversations interesting. He feels good.

He checks himself out in the mirror, ruffles his hair a little. He’s in good shape today, he thinks. This is going to be a great workout.

Plus, his abs are starting to look freaking amazing.

There are a few people he knows at the gym tonight. He chats with everyone for a few moments, trying to decide whether he feels like a chest day or leg day kind of workout. His arms still feel a bit sore after last time, so it would be good to concentrate on the lower body. But first, a little warm-up.

He turns towards the row of treadmills and freezes mid-step. 

He’s here.

The guy Dean has been staring at for the last two weeks is here. What’s more, he’s already running on his favourite treadmill, and the only other free machine is the one right next to him.

Dean almost can’t believe his luck tonight.

Casually, Dean trots up to the treadmill and sneaks an appreciative glance at the guy. He’s been calling him The Thighs Guy in his head, and for very good reason, which he can now see from up close. The guy is running quickly, heavy steps hitting the machine loudly, making his thigh muscles shift beneath his glistening skin. His ass looks amazing in shorts. Dean has no idea where he likes looking best, actually: thighs, ass, or those truly sinful calves.

Just to be safe, he simply looks away. He won’t deny occasionally ogling people at the gym, but he refuses to be creepy about it.

Instead, he glances higher. The guy has a great back and arms, too, even though Dean doesn’t see him on any other machine than a treadmill that often. And then there’s his face.

It’s redder than usual right now, and there’s sweat on his forehead and neck, but it barely matters. The guy’s dark hair keeps flopping into his eyes while he jogs – and mother of God, those eyes. Dean has only really seen them a few times but he’s already had one or two dreams about them. 

Miraculously, the guy must feel Dean’s gaze on him because he turns his head to the side and looks at him.

Dean’s knees weaken a little, though he hasn’t even started his workout yet. 

The guy’s eyes are so, so blue.

Dumbstruck, Dean smiles and nods. The guy frowns a little and looks back at the machine in front of him. Dean really wants to say something, but the guy is wearing earphones; besides, he doesn’t really look like he’s able to have a conversation right now, not with the way he’s breathing.

Dean forces himself to look away and finally start his own workout.

He’s pretty winded just after ten minutes of running. Normally, he would stop right there and go on to other exercises, but the guy beside him doesn’t seem to be slowing down and Dean doesn’t want to look too weak. So he jogs on. He puts on his own music to pump himself up and tries to concentrate more on his own breathing and steps than on the hottie beside him.

He’s just started to actually enjoy it when he notices the Thighs Guy pulling off his earphones and reducing the speed of his machine. Dean doesn’t want it to look weird, so he turns off his music but keeps the headphones on. He keeps on running while the guy stops altogether and spends a minute or two stretching.

Then he’s gone.

Desperate, Dean slows down as well and looks around discreetly. He catches the guy going in the direction of the heavy machines, not leaving towards the locker rooms, and he grins triumphantly. 

So it’s not over yet.

He runs for a few more minutes, but there’s no heart in it anymore. Besides, he feels more than warmed up now – he’s sweating and hot and his face is probably red as hell. He gives himself a moment to catch his breath and then he steps off the treadmill.

As casually as he can, he wanders towards the machines, trying to think of something to do. He was supposed to train his legs, but maybe he could switch it to chest after all – the Thighs Guy is on the bench right now, getting ready to lift. His loads seems smaller than what Dean usually uses, which could give Dean a chance to maybe show off a little…

No. He shouldn’t be that guy. He won’t be that guy.

He shakes his head and simply reaches for a pair of dumbbells. Working out in front of the mirror gives him a good opportunity to observe the Thighs Guy without behaving like a creep and staring at him openly.

He’s having a short break when he sees a huge guy walk over to where the Thighs Guy is lying on the bench and say something to him. From his posture, it looks like he’s suggesting something – if Dean had to guess, he’d say the huge guy offered to spot for the Thighs Guy. Curious, Dean stands still in front of his mirror and watches the scene unfold.

The Thighs Guy sits up slowly, looking up at the huge guy without a blink. Then he says something, shaking his head, face stony.

The huge guy shrugs and walks away.

Dean probably should have treated it as his warning: if a guy doesn’t want help from one person, he won’t want it from another, either. 

But it’s his lucky day. He’s feeling good. And he just wants to help.

It’s already quite late and the gym is almost empty. There are only a few people except for him and the Thighs Guy. Emboldened, Dean slowly walks over to where the guy is doing push-ups and sits down on the bench next to him.

“You know, I’ve read somewhere that it’s even more effective when you keep your hands together, not apart,” he says casually.

The guy lifts his head and it’s only then Dean realises he’s still wearing earphones. Noticing Dean’s staring, he sits back on his legs and tears his earphones out.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, voice rough.

Dean clears his throat. “Uh. Sorry. I just said you should try keeping your hands closer together. They say it’s more effective.”

The guy doesn’t even blink. “Who says that?”

“I just read it somewhere.” Dean shrugs and sends the guy a silly grin. “And you look like you could pull it off, no sweat.”

He chuckles, but the sound dies in his throat when he’s met with the guy’s stormy look.

“Are you a personal trainer?” he asks.

Dean huffs. “Heh. I’m flattered, but no.”

The guy stands up so quickly it makes Dean a little dizzy. “In that case, I would appreciate if you could keep your precious advice to yourself. I know what I’m doing.”

Dean stands up, too. He puts up his hands. “Sorry, dude. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were. Thank you, but it’s both unnecessary and unwelcome. And now please, excuse me, but—”

“You know, you don’t have to be such a jerk about it,” Dean snaps back before he can think. 

The guy stops in his tracks. The hand that’s holding the towel against his face freezes. 

“You know,” he says, voice cold, “if you’re so sure about your advice, you should try it yourself. I think you could really use it.”

Dean’s too mortified – both by his own words and by the guy’s biting answer – to say anything else. He simply watches as the guy storms off towards the locker rooms without another look at Dean.

As far as Dean’s great days go, this one could’ve ended better.

***

On weekends, Dean likes to get his workout done before noon, so that he has the rest of the day for his friends, family, and himself. 

He likes the gym on Saturday mornings: it’s quieter than usual, less crowded. People are usually more cheerful, knowing their weekends have only just started and they still have two full days ahead of them. They have plans for the night, and if they don’t – well, Dean won’t lie about scoring a Saturday date or two at the gym.

He’s usually still a little out of it when he walks out of the locker room, so he likes to stretch and run for a moment to wake himself up. On this particular Saturday, all of the treadmills are miraculously unoccupied, so he chooses the one with the best view out of the big window and starts his workout.

When he exercises, he likes to listen to his good ol’ classic rock, but this morning, it feels kind of perfect to sync his steps to the heavy rhythm of a popular rap song that’s playing through the gym speakers. Dean’s actually humming quietly under his breath, his breathing fast but even, when he sees someone stepping onto another treadmill in the corner of his eye.

A greeting already on his lips, Dean turns. He almost falls off his machine when he notices it’s the Thighs Guy starting to run only two treadmills away from him.

As if he can feel Dean’s gaze, the guy looks over at him. His lips tighten and he frowns. Dean doesn’t say anything, just looks away.

His mood plummets. He suddenly hates the stupid rap song. He curses under his breath when he realises he’s left his headphones in his car and he’s forced to listen to this crap the whole time he’s here.

A few moments later, he almost trips and decides he’s had enough of running. He can feel the guy’s piercing blue gaze on him but he refuses to give him the satisfaction of looking back, and instead concentrates only on his own workout. 

He’s on his second set of pull-ups when a low, heavily-accented voice greets him from behind. Dean feels himself smile as he jumps down and turns.

“Benny,” he says. The tall guy in front of him grins, his perfect white teeth showing. They clap their hands together in a quick greeting. “Been a while, man.”

“Yeah, I know,” Benny says. “Andrea was sick and I had to take care of her for a bit. But I see there’s no stopping you, is there? Lookin’ good, brother,” he adds and sends Dean an appreciative look.

Dean puffs out his chest a bit, more instinct than anything else. He can feel himself blush under Benny’s scrutiny. It feels nice. 

“What can I say,” he says with a shrug that’s supposed to be nonchalant but is probably far from it. “Someone had to stay on track.”

Benny laughs heartily. “Plans for today?”

“I was thinking some good old bench. What do you say?”

“You got it.” Benny claps his hands together. “Lemme just warm up and we can start.”

“I promise I’ll go easy on you,” Dean teases.

Benny grins. “I won’t.”

They’re in the middle of the workout when Dean notices the Thighs Guy creeping towards the machines as well, breathing hard, with a towel wrapped casually around his shoulders. Benny has to call Dean’s name twice to get him to pay attention to him again, but he doesn’t say anything.

Dean’s the one on the bench, waiting for Benny to get in position, when a voice interrupts them. Dean looks up, surprised to see the Thighs Guy standing beside them.

“Sorry, are you going to use those?” he asks, pointing at two fifty pound plates lying on the floor. He’s looking at Benny. 

Dean doesn’t say anything, only raises his eyebrows. Benny shrugs. “Nah. Knock yourself out, man.”

The Thighs Guy murmurs his thanks, picks up the disks, and stalks away. Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

He can’t control the next words that fly out of his mouth. “Just don’t offer him any help.” He doesn’t say it loudly, but the gym is almost empty except for them and the song is quieter. The guy shoots him a cold look over his shoulder, but doesn’t comment.

Benny chuckles. “What was that?”

“What?” Dean grunts. He puts his hands up. “Nothing. Come on, let’s get this over with already.”

Benny helps him as he lifts and they stop talking for some time. But he can see Benny’s curiosity in the way he’s looking at the guy working out on the other side of the mat. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “He’s an asshole,” he explains under his breath, so that only Benny can hear him. “I tried to help him last time and he got all huffy about it.”

“You tried to help him how? Did you spot for him?” Benny asks.

Dean huffs. “No way. I just… offered some advice. Well-meant advice,” he adds when he sees Benny’s look.

“Dude,” Benny laughs. “That’s standard gym etiquette. You don’t go around trying to help people that don’t need your help.”

“But that’s stupid! I was just trying to be helpful. What’s wrong with that?” Dean scoffs.

“Would you do that to a girl?” Benny asks with a meaningful look.

“Well.” Dean considers it. “No. She’d probably think it was sexist or something.”

Benny nods. “And how is this situation different?”

Dean stares. “What do you mean, how? The dude’s not a girl, obviously!”

“And it’s 2019, Dean. It doesn’t matter who it is. Being sexist towards a dude is possible.”

Dean lets out a groan. “Oh my God. Okay, yeah. I know that, alright? I know. But I swear it wasn’t the same. I was honestly just trying to help.”

“They’re always just trying to help, or so they think,” Benny says with a shrug.

“You weren’t here,” Dean says. He’s pouting and he can’t help it. “The guy was just an asshole.”

“Maybe he thought you were trying to pick him up,” Benny says, grinning.

Annoyed, Dean lies back down on the bench, hoping he can blame exercise for the way his face flushes. “I wasn’t, but whatever. Come on, let’s go one more time.”

“I thought it was my turn now?” Benny is laughing out loud now, but he goes around the bench anyway.

Dean glares at him. “You’ve lost your turn by being a pain in the ass,” he complains. 

Benny ignores him and lets him finish his exercise without bringing up the subject again, for which Dean is grateful – after Benny’s words, he now feels a little guilty about being a jerk himself and blaming everything on the Thighs Guy. By the time they’re done and ready to leave for the locker room, Dean has made up his mind: he’s not going to sulk anymore and will instead be more civil towards the Thighs Guy. It would be a shame to burn all his bridges even before he has a chance to get through them.

When they’re leaving the gym, Dean catches the Thighs Guy’s eyes, still busy with his own workout. Shyly, Dean holds his gaze and smiles.

The guy doesn’t reciprocate – but he doesn’t tell him to get lost either. It’s a win, as far as Dean’s concerned.

***

After what happens the next time Dean visits the gym, Dean has a hard time convincing Benny he’s not interested in the Thighs Guy.

“Well, first of all, you call him the Thighs Guy,” Benny says as they leave the gym and walk across the parking lot towards Dean’s car.

“Only in my head,” Dean argues, then shuts his mouth when Benny sends him a look. “Shit. How do you know I call him the Thighs Guy?”

“Because you do,” Benny laughs. “You called him that twice already.”

“Must have slipped out,” Dean grumbles.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him,” Dean says. “It only means I noticed his thighs once or twice. Like I notice the _hair_ whenever I look at my brother, or something.”

“Don’t know how to tell you this, man, but your brother’s hair is a little different than some strange dude’s _thighs_.”

Dean shrugs. “He wears shorts. They’re just visible.”

Benny laughs. “Whatever. That’s only one thing. Second thing is, you _act_ interested. You show off when he’s around and you’re bored when he’s not.”

“No, I’m not,” Dean protests weakly.

“You did the same thing with Lisa last summer.”

“Ha, I got you there! That’s a weak-ass argument. I’ll never deny being interested in Lisa. We both know I did all those things around her, and more. But I had a good reason: I was actually interested, and so was she. With this guy? This is just a good old competition, nothing more.”

“Competition?” 

“Yeah.” Dean nods vigorously. “I told you the guy was a jerk that first day. Nothing changed; he’s still a jerk. I tried to be friendly, but it didn’t work. So now we’re back to hating each other, I guess.”

“Okay, then.” Benny sends him a sly look. “How do you explain today, then?”

It happened like this:

They had just finished their workout and headed to the locker room to take a shower and change. Dean had been pretty pumped about the workout and barely noticed anything happening around him, let alone paid any mind to the few naked guys standing around the shower room when they entered. Dean was secure enough to admit checking out a guy in the shower once in a while, but generally it didn’t bother him at all. They were all the same – well, mostly.

This time was no different. Dean and Benny kept talking as they started their respective showers, too absorbed in their conversation to pay any attention to others around them. It would have stayed like that, probably, if it weren’t for the new person that entered the room a bit later.

Dean turned his head, absentmindedly, still in the middle of discussing the workout, and then felt the words die in his mouth. His eyes fell to the expanse of muscled naked chest, lingered a while, then slowly slipped down. 

He recognised the thighs a little too late – both Benny and the Thighs Guy had already noticed his intense staring. Dean’s eyes snapped up to the guy’s frowning face and blue, blue eyes, and the next thing he knew, Dean was making a weird high noise and turning his back to the guy, hands flying down uselessly to cover his nakedness, his entire face burning.

Benny started laughing.

Petrified by his own behaviour, Dean turned off the tap and proceeded to flee the shower room as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, this meant two things: having to pass the Naked Thighs Guy in the doorway, having just made a complete fool out of himself, and also doing it barefoot and on a wet, slippery floor.

It’s no surprise, really, that he slipped. It wouldn’t even have been that bad if he didn’t do it right under the Naked Thighs Guy’s nose.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Benny says, still laughing. “You should’ve heard the noise you made!”

“Oh yeah, I heard that,” Dean says grimly. He will never forget the animal yelp that tore out of his chest when he plopped down onto his naked ass right in front of the equally naked guy he’s been crushing on for at least the last week or two.

The guy actually reacted quite well, Dean had to give him that. Not only did he not even laugh, he also seemed a bit concerned and bent down to give Dean a hand. Dean should’ve probably accepted it and let himself be pulled up, but he had already been too embarrassed – so instead he simply scurried off without another look at the guy.

“Apart from the fact that I’m obviously a fucking idiot,” Dean says as they get into his car, “how does that prove I’m interested in the guy?”

“Dean, you’re interested _because_ you’re acting like a fucking idiot,” Benny says. He’s still laughing, the bastard.

“Next time we’re here, I’m gonna prove it to you I’m not,” Dean mutters. “Next time I meet this dude, I’m gonna be the most normal, not-at-all interested guy that ever existed.”

“I can’t wait to see how wrong you are,” Benny says with a shit-eating grin.

Dean punches him in the arm.


	3. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3

Castiel is still smirking to himself when he leaves the gym that day, but it turns into a real smile when he sees the notification on his phone. He forces himself to walk up to his car first and only allows himself to check the message once he’s inside.

> impala67: _Let this day be over fml_
> 
> catstiel: _Is it that bad?_
> 
> impala67: _I seem to be having the worst of luck today. You?_
> 
> catstiel: _Surprisingly entertaining._

He thinks about the gym again and can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

> impala67: _Good for you. What r u up to tonight?_

A week or two ago, Castiel would cringe, close the app, and never go back to it again after reading a personal question like this. It’s not very intimate, but it does interfere with what Cas is rarely ready to share with virtual strangers. It still surprises him sometimes how used to Dean – which turned out to be impala67’s name, or at least the one he introduced himself with – he has gotten over the last days they’ve spent chatting. They never share too many details, nothing overly personal, nothing that could potentially bring them to recognising each other in real life. How it would happen, Cas isn’t sure, but he stands behind his rules, even if Dean questions them sometimes.

It doesn’t mean he will tell Dean about his exact plans, but they have mastered a way of talking about real life without it being too dangerous.

> catstiel: _Once I get home it’s just a good book and bed for me. Hopefully._
> 
> impala67: _It’s only like 8 though_
> 
> catstiel: _I’m too tired to care_
> 
> impala67: _Tired huh? So, an entertaining AND tiring day?_
> 
> catstiel: _Yes. I’m even considering ordering instead of cooking_
> 
> impala67: _GASP_
> 
> impala67: _What happened to you._

Castiel smiles down at his phone. It’s incredible, the way their conversations just flow so easily. It’s never been like this with anyone, neither online nor in reality. 

The thought of actually meeting Dean crosses his mind yet again, for probably the hundredth time in the last few days, but he quickly dismisses it. It’s still too fresh and too new. He also thinks about inviting Dean to the wedding – but the mere thought makes him nauseous. He knows he wouldn’t be able to manage it and he doesn’t want to ruin what they already have. Not yet.

At least Dean has stopped asking about it for now. It’s more than possible he will get bored soon if Cas won’t agree to go out with him, but he tries not to think about it too often and just treasure what they have now.

> impala67: _So what are we eating?_
> 
> impala67: _By ‘we’ I mean what you’re eating, no worries_

Castiel curses himself. It’s obvious Dean is also trying to avoid the subject of dating, probably still hoping that if he waits long enough, Cas will finally agree. 

Not sure how to answer that, Cas decides to simply ignore it and move on.

> catstiel: _Indian, I think. Have you managed to try the curry recipe I shared with you? They posted another variant of it on the blog today and I was thinking, if you like the first one, you’ll probably like this one too._
> 
> impala67: _Yeah not yet, maybe I’ll have more time over the weekend_
> 
> impala67: _Speaking of, any plans?_

It hits too close to home, so with a suddenly much heavier heart, Cas closes the app and drives himself home. He’s too preoccupied with thoughts – of Dean, of _meeting_ Dean, of his work, of the events at the gym – that he even forgets to put on any music and drives in complete silence. 

Once home, he puts off answering Dean for as long as it takes him to take a shower, order food, pay some bills, and then eat his dinner while watching an episode of some comedy TV show. It’s only when he finally gets into bed with a book that he looks at his phone again.

There are no new messages from Dean.

> catstiel: _Not much, really._

Dean doesn’t answer, and when Cas goes to sleep, he’s almost certain he will never hear from Dean again.

***

On Sunday evening, Cas finds himself at a local winery with two of his best friends, Balthazar and Hannah. He wasn’t planning on going out, but when they suggested it, he didn’t think twice. It seemed like a good way of distracting himself from checking his phone every other minute.

It turns out, though, that wine does not help in avoiding the thing you’re trying to avoid – quite the opposite.

He told his friends about the entire Tinder thing over the first bottle of wine, mostly as an anecdote from his life, just so he could say _something_ interesting that was happening to him. But sadly, he didn’t stop there: soon, he was telling them vaguely about some of the people he chatted with, which then turned into him going on and on about how fun Dean was to talk to. Both his friends seemed quite interested in the topic and excited for him, even if Balthazar teased him a little. But when they catch him looking at his phone for the hundredth time, they decide to take matters into their hands.

Specifically, Balthazar.

“Okay, that’s enough sulking,” he declares and snatches Cas’ phone from under his nose.

“Hey!” Cas protests, but his reflexes are too slow by now. 

Balthazar smirks at him.

“Give it back,” Cas says.

“You’re ruining the mood with your martyrdom,” Balthazar says. “Isn’t he, Hannah?”

Hannah sips at her wine and nods. She’s smiling.

“It’s not martyrdom,” Cas groans. “I was just checking—”

“You know, Cassie, we’re not in high school anymore. We’re not even in college anymore. You don’t have to wait three days before making your move on the guy, you know? Oh, it’s not even password-protected,” Balthazar says triumphantly. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Cas threatens, watching his friend tap away at the screen.

“I won’t say anything you wouldn’t say,” Balthazar promises, then winks. “Or I’ll try not to.”

“This is a violation of privacy, Balthazar,” Cas says, leaning over the table and glaring at his friend. “Give it back or I’m leaving.”

“Okay, I’ll give it back,” Balthazar says, looking up at him with narrowed eyes, “only if you write to him yourself.”

“No, Bal, it’s not—”

“Then I’ll do it.” He goes back to Cas’ phone.

“Okay, okay! Alright. I’ll write something,” Cas says.

“What will you write?” Hannah asks.

“I don’t know. I’ll write ‘Hey, Dean’ or something.”

“Boring,” Balthazar says.

“Say you miss talking to him,” Hannah suggests.

Cas grimaces. “No. That’s way too intimate. And also, not true at all.”

“Yeah, of course.” Balthazar rolls his eyes. “You’ll either write ‘Do you want to go out with me?’ or nothing at all.”

Cas shrugs. “Nothing at all it is, then.”

“Okay, so I’ll write it,” Balthazar unlocks Cas’ phone again.

Cas growls and reaches for the phone. Balthazar moves away. “Bal!”

“Just ask what he’s up to,” Balthazar says. “Even though it’s boring as fuck.”

“Okay,” Cas snaps. “Just give me my damn phone back.”

“But you’ll write it?” 

“Yeah!”

With a calculating look, Balthazar slowly returns the phone to Cas’ hands. With an annoyed huff, Cas snatches it back and pushes it into his pocket.

“Hey!” Hannah protests.

“You promised!” Balthazar actually sounds offended.

“It’s my life and I will decide what to do with it, thank you very much,” Cas says and brings the glass of wine up to his lips to drink angrily.

Balthazar laughs. “Good thing I did write to him, then,” he says nonchalantly.

Cas splutters.

His friends are still laughing when he scrambles for his phone and opens the app. He hasn’t heard from Dean since Friday night and didn’t know how to pick up their conversation, so he just didn’t. If his friends ruined everything, he swears to God he’ll–

> catstiel: _Hello, Dean_

That’s all the message says. 

He looks up at Balthazar, who shrugs.

“I told you I’d write something very Cas-like,” he says with a grin.

Cas rolls his eyes and closes the app. This time, he hides his phone so that he doesn’t have to look at it for the rest of the night.

***

> impala67: _Hey dude! Long time no talk_
> 
> impala67: _How was your weekend?_

Cas blinks down at the messages as he drinks his first coffee on Monday morning, right before work. His head is pounding and the inside of his mouth feels like parchment, and it’s all Balthazar’s fault – he knew Cas had to get up for work early and yet he still ordered the fourth bottle of wine, even after Cas accidentally pushed a good half of the third one off the table with his awkward gesturing. 

He smiles, but doesn’t answer right away, too afraid he’s still too drunk to even write properly. Dean will have to wait until Cas’ hangover disappears.

As it happens, he has to wait even longer. The hangover is gone around the second hour of work, but then Cas is too busy with the actual work and numerous clients and phone calls and orders to even think about checking his phone. It’s only during lunch that Cas finally has a quiet moment to sit down, enjoy a sandwich and a good cup of coffee, and look at his phone.

Now that he’s checking, he notices Dean answered his (Balthazar’s) message around two in the morning. Raising his eyebrows, Cas starts typing.

> catstiel: _It was good. Then better. Then Monday morning happened and it was cruel._

Cas doesn’t even have to wait to get a response from Dean.

> impala67: _O-ho. Sounds like a killer hangover?_
> 
> catstiel: _Partly, yes. But also it’s been very busy at work so far._
> 
> impala67: _Oh no, that sucks_
> 
> catstiel: _Yes. It seems as if suddenly every person in the city needs a fresh supply of elderberry syrup–_

Cas’ finger freezes over the send button at the last possible second. He looks at what he wrote with a frown and realises he almost shared way too much about his personal life. He almost broke his own rule.

Quickly, he deletes the whole message and starts anew. 

> catstiel: _Unfortunately, yes. How are you feeling this Monday?_

There. That’s safer. Talking about feelings is, surprisingly, safer than revealing anything too real about themselves, such as their career choices. Also, a small voice inside his head adds, he has a weird feeling Dean would laugh if he heard what Cas did for living. Usually, when people hear Cas is an herbalist, they frown, start mocking, or don’t even understand what the word means. Cas doesn’t think he’s being too presumptuous when he imagines Dean would probably belong to the same category.

When his lunch break is over, Cas returns to work – he spends the rest of his day tending to plants, mixing herbs, syrups, and teas, or cleaning glass bottles and jars returned by customers. As usual, he finishes the day outside in the little garden at the back of his shop, hands deep into the dirt as he replants the chamomile and thyme into his new ceramic pots to make them customer-ready. He still smells of herbs and earth when he gets home to eat something and feed Freddie.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs, scratching the cat behind his ear as he shovels yoghurt into his own mouth. “How was your day? Anything fun happen when I was at work?”

Freddie butts his head against Cas’ hand, urging him to scratch some more. Cas laughs quietly and obeys.

“You know I gotta leave again,” he says. Freddie pretends not to listen and jumps into his lap instead. “I’ll be back in two hours, tops, I promise. I’m all yours tonight.”

Freddie’s affectionate mood makes Cas leave a little later than usual, but he doesn’t mind it that much. Spending some quality time with his cat is worth five minutes on the treadmill, he thinks, and then laughs to himself. That little furball has him wrapped around his tiny paw and he knows it.

When he finally arrives at his favourite gym, there are quite a few more cars in the parking lot than usual for a Monday. He can already imagine the crowd of people that awaits him, all the treadmills taken, every spot and every machine occupied by people he doesn’t know. He’s even tempted to turn back and go home without even leaving his car. Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Cas closes his eyes and convinces himself that he’ll feel better after the workout. He just has to push through it.

It takes him a moment, but he finally manages to get out of the car and head towards the gym. In the locker room, he murmurs hello to a few guys he meets on his way, but mostly keeps his head down and changes quickly. It soon turns out that it’s not that bad out there – maybe some of the people are attending spinning classes or something which means, fortunately, that there are at least three treadmills for him to choose from. He quickly notices his favourite – right at the edge, in front of the window with a nice view – and walks over to claim his spot before anyone else can.

It’s only when he’s putting in his earphones and setting up his running playlist that he feels someone looking at him. It happens sometimes and he usually manages to ignore it – he knows it’s a thing that happens in a place like this and he realises there’s nothing he can do about it – but this time it feels somehow more invasive.

He presses the button that starts up his machine and risks a quick glance at the person beside him.

Oh.

It’s him.

The guy running next to him is tall and muscular, in a way that makes Cas’ eyes trail after him sometimes when he struts around the gym as if he owns the place. His hair is light brown and all fluffed up, jaw strong, lips plump, eyes big and green, framed by golden eyelashes, and finally – the real cherry on top – there’s a splattering of light freckles all across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. 

Castiel might have had a dream about this guy, once.

It’s also the guy that he’s determined to hate, but it continues to interfere with the fact that he also really wants to wrestle with him, pin him hard to the ground, and kiss the living daylight out of him, finally tasting that sinful mouth of his and feeling those hard muscles move beneath his hands.

Okay, Cas has had multiple dreams about the guy in the recent past, and they all ended the same – Cas awake, gasping, in the solitude of his bathroom under the spray of hot water and with his hand busy between his legs.

Yes. This guy was trouble.

It all started a few weeks ago; Cas had seen the guy a few times and admired him from afar, but never thought of ever walking up to him and starting a conversation. Until one day the guy did it himself and ruined everything.

He behaved like a classic gym guy, the type Cas has always despised. He stared – ogled, really – as if he thought Castiel would feel flattered by the creepy attention. It was obvious he wanted to say something to him, but Cas stubbornly kept the earphones in his ears and refused to look at the guy. Later, when Cas started his workout with weights, some other man came over and offered to spot for him; Cas declined and the guy walked away without complaints. Cas just preferred his own company. 

He was doing push-ups when he realised someone was talking to him. He looked up, noticed the man from the treadmill, and stopped to pull his earphones out. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, annoyed. The guy was sitting on the bench right in front of him, wearing a stupid grin and a stupid sleeveless shirt that showed off his glorious arms. 

Then he proceeded to offer Cas advice in the most pretentious, condescending way that Cas could imagine, and Cas snapped at him, probably overreacting a little but feeling too exposed to care. The guy seemed stunned, but another day, Cas overheard him complaining loudly to his friend about how Cas was the asshole in this scenario. Riled up, Cas continued to glare at the guy every chance he got, trying hard to make it clear that he never wanted him to waste his time again.

The dreams continued, fueled by the hate.

And the two of them continued to bump into each other.

Cas has to admit, after all this time, that it’s gotten comfortable to dislike the guy from afar but do nothing about it. He doesn’t have the courage to ever start the conversation, especially since he’s too proud to admit he wants to, even after all that happened. It’s safer to believe the only thing between them is pure, unadulterated hate.

And yet, Castiel still smiles when he thinks of last Friday. It happened so fast but he’s been hogging the memories in his mind, convincing himself he’s simply reveling in the guy’s embarrassment and not cherishing the moment.

Especially since it was the first and only time he’s ever had the chance to see the guy naked.

It was a… nice sight. He’s already had a dream about it, and it was a bit different than usual – less spiteful, more intimate and soft.

It caught Cas off guard, just like the guy’s surprised yelp when he saw Cas enter the shower room and then proceeded to slip on the wet tile right in front of Cas.

It gave Cas hope that maybe his feelings towards the man were not completely unreciprocated. 

Not that he actually wants that. Not really. Just… it’s a nice thought, one that makes him smile as he’s falling asleep. And maybe, just maybe, he’s unconsciously looking for something else in case the thing with Dean finally falls through, as he’s sure it will sooner or later.

He realises he’s been walking very slowly on the treadmill for at least five long minutes and absentmindedly staring at the guy right next to him, who seems to be trying very hard to ignore him – and failing, judging from the splash of red high in his cheeks. Castiel is certain the guy would normally snap at him for staring so long, but he must be still feeling embarrassed about what happened the last time they saw each other. The image of the guy’s glorious naked body springs to Cas’ mind yet again and he feels a wave of heat hit him so suddenly he almost trips on the treadmill. The guy beside him sneaks a curious but shy look at him, and Cas quickly looks away. Now he’s blushing too.

Frustrated, Cas speeds up, eager to forget all about the guy next to him. He tries not to pay any attention to him, but he still sees him stop the machine and leave in the corner of his eye. He tries to concentrate on his workout and refuses to give in to the temptation of looking around the gym to find the guy again.

He spends almost a good hour on the treadmill – even longer than he usually does – but he still feels the need to let off the steam bubbling inside of him, so he heads towards the weights section. He thinks he can see the guy on the bench but he refuses to look that way and heads towards the dumbbells instead.

He’s barely five minutes into his routine when loud voices distract him from it, even despite the music from his earphones. Cas puts the weights down and glances towards the direction the noise is coming from, pausing the song for a moment. 

Two huge men are standing in the middle of the gym, talking and laughing loudly. Cas rolls his eyes when he notices the way they’re clearly here to work out a bit but mostly to stare at women and make inappropriate jokes. One of the men looks his way and Cas recognises the same guy that once offered to spot for him. The guy wiggles his eyebrows at him, but doesn’t do anything else. 

Cas continues his workout, but he keeps his eye on the men. He was right – they’re the type that hangs around the gym, causing ruckus and being a little obnoxious, the type Cas usually tries to ignore. He sees them chatting up girls, but they must know them quite well because they respond to the jokes quite favourably, which only seems to brighten up their already happy moods.

Cas is still not listening to music, which is why he hears the men’s every word. He hears their question – “Hey there, need a little hand?” – and raises his head, hoping it’s not directed at him.

It’s not, fortunately. What’s less fortunate is that apparently it’s directed at the guy he’s supposed to hate.

“Um,” the guy answers, clearly taken aback. He sits up on the bench and wipes sweat off his forehead, looking between the two men in front of him. “Nah, thanks. I’m cool.”

“Are you sure?” one of the men ask. “We know our stuff and it looks like you’re lacking a spotter here.”

“I’m okay,” the guy repeats. He stands up and turns his back on the men. “He’s not here today, but I’m managing.”

“It’s easier with a spotter, you know,” the second man says.

The guy sends him an annoyed look over his shoulder. “You don’t say.”

Cas slowly lowers his dumbbells onto the ground.

“Hey, no need to get all huffy, mister,” the first man says. “We’re just tryin’ to help.”

“Well, I never said I needed your help in the first place,” the guy answers scathingly, “so I’d appreciate it if you fucked off.”

“Now, listen here—”

Cas can’t believe what he’s doing until he walks over and sends the guy a knowing look, completely ignoring the two men. 

“Hey,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.” He looks around, as if noticing the men for the first time, and frowns. “What’s going on?”

The guy stares at him in numb silence, mouth parted. The two men send Cas smirks and walk away without another word.

“Pretend you know me,” Cas says quietly, coming closer to the guy. 

“I do know you,” the guy says. His eyes are wide.

Cas sends him a look. “You know what I mean.”

The guy shakes his head slowly. “Dude, did you just— _save me_? From _them_?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“What the fuck, man, I didn’t fucking need _saving_ —”

Cas raises his hands. “I didn’t _save_ you. I just helped you so that they would stop bothering you.”

“Oh my God,” the guy gasps. “I could’ve handled them myself, dude. They offered help, I declined it, and they would’ve left me alone soon.”

“You don’t know that,” Cas says.

“Jesus, man. Yeah, I do. I’m not a damsel in distress for you to save, I never wanted you to— Wait a fucking minute.” The guy sends Cas a furious look and goes speechless for a moment. 

Cas feels himself smirk. “How does that feel?” he asks.

“You didn’t—” the guy stutters angrily.

“Oh, I did.” Cas’ heart is hammering away in his chest, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling widely at the guy. He almost can’t believe he actually did that – he never knew he was looking for a way to get back at the guy until the opportunity showed itself. He knew the men were harmless and they would do nothing except maybe rile the guy up the way he himself riled Cas up that one time. But then he realised he could try to show him once and for all how it feels to be treated that way at the gym. It was mostly harmless, in his opinion, and it made him feel more in control of the weird feelings he’s been developing towards the guy.

“This is unbelievable,” the guy mutters, shaking his head.

“Here’s your lesson for today,” Cas says. “Don’t be that person at the gym. It’s creepy. I would know, and now you do, too.”

Cas observes as the guy’s face reddens, but within seconds, he realises it’s not really from shame but anger. He doesn’t have a chance to add anything else before the guy says, “I didn’t need that lesson, asshole. I knew that the minute I embarrassed myself and tried to talk to you for the first time and got shot down. So, thanks, man. Congratulations on being the jerk of the fucking year.”

Cas opens his mouth to answer, but finds he doesn’t know what to say. There’s a strange sinking feeling in his stomach and it gets worse with every second those beautiful green eyes stare at him with hostility.

“And here I thought you were way too good for me to even try talking to you ever again,” the guy says, voice cold. He grabs his towel and his water and sends Cas one last angry look. “Now who’s the asshole, asshole.”

He walks away. Cas sinks down to the bench.

***

> impala67: _Jesus what a crappy day. How are you?_
> 
> impala67: _Actually scratch that. I have a crazy idea_
> 
> impala67: _Let’s meet_
> 
> impala67: _I’m serious. It would be awesome to talk to you in person over a beer or two or seven_
> 
> impala67: _What do you say? You, me, date, tonight?_

Castiel stares at the messages, a dreadful, terrible feeling in his stomach. His fingers tighten on the phone but it’s like he’s paralysed, unable to find a way to answer.

Instead, he simply uninstalls the app, throws the phone away, and burrows deeper into his bed.

What a crappy day, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

## Chapter 4

“Hey, what happened to that great plan of yours?” Benny asks. When Dean looks at quizzically, he adds, “You know, with the whole ‘I’m gonna be nice to the Thighs Guy’ and all that.”

Dean presses his lips together and doesn’t meet Benny’s eyes. “Well, have you seen him around lately? Cause I sure as hell haven’t. So that happened.”

Benny frowns. “Uh… okay. So what you’re saying is that if he showed his face here today, you’d be all nice and friendly, yes?” 

He’s teasing, and Dean knows it, but he still tenses anyway. “Not really, no.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Benny says after a moment of silence. “What did you do this time?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean snaps. “Just drop it.”

“You look a little angry, brother. What did _he_ do?”

Dean considers not answering for a while and just concentrating on his warm up, but he can feel Benny watching him curiously. Also, he’s actually been dying to talk to someone about what happened last time he was at the gym and Benny is the only one caught up with the subject.

“He was an asshole,” he mutters.

“Again?” Benny chuckles.

“More of an asshole than before.” Dean turns to look at Benny. “Can you believe he pulled the same shit on me that I did on him that one time? Went all superhero and pretended to save me from those jerks that always go around chatting people up.”

Benny laughs out loud. “He did _what_? Oh man, I wish I’d been here to see that!”

Dean blinks at him. “That’s not funny, man. I actually felt ashamed about what I did and all that, and I thought he was, you know. Better than that. Above all that.”

“And you’re disappointed now,” Benny says more than asks, raising one brow at him. When Dean shrugs, he adds. “You’re disappointed he’s exactly like you?”

Dean makes a face. “He’s nothing like me. I didn’t do that on purpose, you know. I was honestly trying to be helpful, and maybe to flirt a little. Meanwhile he knew very well how that felt and only did that to mock me. To show me how it is to be on the receiving end. Which only proved that he’s even worse than I am.”

“Okay, I see your point. Kind of. But you’re saying you regretted offering him help in the first place, right? So the fact that he did the same to you wasn’t fair because you already felt bad, right?”

Dean nods. “Yeah! Exactly. Glad you see what I’m talking about—”

“Did you ever apologise to him, though?” When Dean only blinks and doesn’t say anything, Benny continues, “Did you go up to the guy and say ‘Yo, here’s the thing, Thighs Guy: sorry I was a jerk last time, I know now that was shitty of me and I won’t do that again’?”

Dean winces. “No. Also, I would never call him Thighs Guy to his face, don’t be ridiculous.”

Benny ignores him. “So you never apologised.”

“No, okay? But I told you, I felt bad and I’d never—”

“He doesn’t know that, though, does he? That you felt bad?”

“He does now,” Dean grumbles. “Cause I yelled at him last time when I was telling him he was being a total jerk.”

Benny huffs. “Well, there you go then.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, Dean frowns. “There I go what? What are you talking about, dude?”

“How was he supposed to know you felt bad if you never told him that? For all we know, he was still angry about how you treated him and he thought you didn’t even understand what you did wrong since you never admitted it. And yeah, okay, what he did was shitty too, but it still doesn’t justify your behaviour in the first place.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn’t justify his behaviour!” Dean snaps.

“Vicious cycle, man,” Benny says with a smile. “So he’s not the perfect angel you thought he was. So you’re both a little petty. That’s life.”

“He was an asshole,” Dean says angrily. “That’s all I’m mad about.”

“So tell him that,” Benny suggests.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And he’s a coward and he hasn’t shown his face around here for the last few days.”

“Maybe he’s sorry,” Benny says.

“Good, he should be.”

“Great. Then you’re both sorry now and you both know not to do that ever again. Shit’s over. You can now stop sulking and forget about it.”

“I’m not sulking,” Dean sulks. “You just made me relive it all again.”

Benny sighs heavily. “Okay. So you’re obviously still bothered by the whole thing. I’m guessing so is he. Next time he shows, you should just talk it out like normal human beings instead of glowering at each other across the gym or trying to undermine each other. How does that sound, brother?”

Dean rubs a hand across his face. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Benny gives him a sly look. “That, or, you know. Fuck it out.”

Dean splutters. “What?!”

“Don’t get all shy now,” Benny says, laughing loudly. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not— I’m not _fucking it out_ , dude. That’s ridiculous.”

“So you’re saying if he offered, you wouldn’t want to?” Benny asks and wiggles his eyebrows.

Dean looks away. “First of all, he wouldn’t offer.”

“And second of all?”

Dean is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”

Benny laughs. “That’s all the answer I need. Okay, enough with the heart to heart. Let’s go get ripped. Your Thighs Guy looks like he’s in pretty good form. You need all the workout you can get if you’re gonna bang him.”

***

When Dean leaves the office on Friday, he’s beyond annoyed.

Apart from all the stupid things happening at the gym, he’s mostly frustrated about his work these days. Sitting behind a desk from nine to eleven hours a day, doing unpaid overtime just because he’s behind everything he could possibly be behind on, stressing over his promotion, and trying to impress his asshole boss will do that to a man. A good workout at his favourite gym used to help him to relax, but lately it’s been even more frustrating and not helping at all.

And, to top it all off, he also fucked up the only good thing that was going on in his life.

It started on Monday and everything that could go wrong on that day went wrong: his boss yelled at him for being late with reports, Dean in turn yelled at his assistant for the thing that wasn’t even his fault, he learned about his colleague’s promotion and started to seriously doubt his own. He was hoping the gym would help, as usual, but that was when the thing with the Thighs Guy happened. Dean left in a huff without even finishing his workout routine. He was still buzzing with anger when he got home, pulled out his phone, and did the stupidest thing possible.

He asked his online friend out for a date.

Now, it wouldn’t be half that bad if Cas had laughed at him and said no. Dean knows Cas’ opinions on getting involved in real life and for all the weeks they’d known each other, he never really pushed the subject – except for that one time at the very beginning, after which Cas explained where they stood. Normally, Dean would delete the conversation after being shot down like that – he’s done that multiple times already – but somehow, he stuck with Cas.

Talking with Cas was… different. Usually, conversations on Tinder were all about the same things – you’d either get right down to business and set up a meeting after exchanging a few “hellos”, or you’d try to find at least a few common topics to chat about, and then, after a few days, you’d go out to check if it worked in real life.

It never did, not for Dean, at least – and he’s been on numerous Tinder dates.

But not with Cas.

Cas despised small talk, and the way he talked with Dean seemed so fresh and simple that it just drew Dean in. Mostly, it didn’t even matter that they never mentioned dating in real life. They could be flirting a lot, but it never ventured anywhere deeper… and Dean found it surprisingly refreshing.

It was like having a friend. A friend he could talk with about almost everything.

If Dean could go back in time, he would without a second thought. If it meant getting Cas back, he would.

He’s not sure exactly what happened on Monday, but Cas hasn’t answered him since he asked him out. Even more importantly, Cas hasn’t been online since Monday evening. At first, Dean thought he just got too anxious and decided to answer Dean the next day – maybe even tell him off and politely end their conversation forever. But after a day or two, it came to him:

Cas deleted Tinder.

Dean is almost certain of it, mostly because Cas has told him, a few times at least, about how he sometimes got the urge to do just that after some of the guys on the app became too serious. Cas just never wanted to really deal with it so he thought about running away instead. He never did it, though.

Not until Dean, apparently.

Dean has sent him a few more messages over the last few days – first, he mostly apologised and promised he’d been joking about meeting in real life, then he got angrier and angrier and even called Cas a coward and a child. Cas never saw that, so it didn’t even matter.

After talking with Benny about the Thighs Guy, he felt guilty. He opened Tinder and typed a message to Cas almost unconsciously, before realising he wouldn’t get a response anyway. That didn’t help to make him feel better.

And then, Friday comes. His boss tells him Dean has a chance for a promotion – if he works at least just as hard as he does now for the next half a year or more. Dean grits his teeth as he rides down the elevator and storms towards his car. He never even wanted an office job in the first place, and now it means at least six more months being stuck here, just to get a stupid raise.

It’s already late – almost nine in the evening – but the thought of getting all sweaty and exhausted at the gym is the only thing keeping him sane right now. Over the last few years, he’s learned that the best way of letting off steam is exercise.

That or some good old sex, but he’s not having any of that tonight, obviously, so he shouldn’t even think about it.

The parking lot is nearly empty, save for a few cars here and there. Dean’s glad – the less people to bother him as he works out, the better. 

A few people smile at him as he passes through the locker room and near the reception area, but he doesn’t smile back. He has only one goal for tonight: focus on himself. That’s it. That’s easy. No thinking about work, no thinking about Cas, and especially no thinking about the Thighs Guy.

He’s the priority tonight.

He gets so into it he barely notices time passing, and by the time he’s finished, it’s well after ten and he’s alone. The girl from the reception desk is gone, probably already getting ready to lock up soon and waiting for everyone to leave. The gym closes at eleven, so with over twenty minutes to spare, Dean heads back to the locker room to have a quick shower.

It feels nice, finally being all alone. Dean takes his time under the hot spray of water, already feeling his muscles relax after a heavy workout session. He uses way more shower gel than usually, getting all nice and soapy, and he’s humming as he lathers up his hair and then lets the hot water rinse it all away. By the time he wraps the towel around his hips and gets out of the shower to dry off, he’s almost smiling.

Until he notices the person drying their hair in front of the mirrors.

Dean’s eyes meet the Thighs Guy’s eyes in the reflection and they both freeze. The guy is wearing jeans and there’s a towel swung over his shoulders, his hair still half damp and flopping over his forehead. Dean’s hands immediately fly down to make sure his towel stays where it is – he’s not getting naked in front of that guy again.

Before he can even process it, he opens his mouth and asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

The guy lowers the hair dryer and turns slowly, looking Dean straight in the eye. Dean stubbornly does not look at his naked chest.

“I’m drying my hair,” the guy says slowly. He seems just as surprised to see Dean as Dean is to see him.

“But you weren’t here before,” Dean says. “I mean. I thought I was alone. You know they’re closing in like five minutes?”

The guy blinks. “Yes, I do. And I didn’t see you before either. I was exercising in one of the rooms tonight, maybe that’s why. And you must have gotten to the shower room when I was in there,” he adds, pointing to the row of toilets on his right. “That’s how we missed each other.”

Dean can’t help it; he scoffs. “And here’s how you’re wrong: I haven’t missed you. At all. Gym was so much better for the last few days you haven’t had the courage to show your face around here.”

He watches, fascinated, as the guy’s face reddens. 

“I was here,” he snaps. “Every day.”

“Oh, right,” Dean mocks. “Coming in right before they close and choosing to lock yourself in one of the empty rooms like the sad lonely jerk you are? Yeah, you’re right. You _were_ here.”

“I just wanted to save myself from having to look at you,” the guy growls. He turns on his heel and walks away towards the row of lockers, his wet hair forgotten.

Dean laughs and follows him. “Sorry to disappoint, then. I should be the one avoiding you, after what you did, but I guess I’m just not that petty.” In the back of his mind, Dean can hear Benny’s words about apologizing and talking it out, but he ignores them. “You know, this is how grown ups deal with their shit: they don’t hide away in empty rooms, hoping to never meet the person face to face again.”

The guy sends him a scathing look over his shoulder. “Oh, yes. You sound very grown-up right now. Congratulations on being very mature about the entire thing.”

“Mature?” Dean laughs again. “Look who’s talking. What you did was real mature. You know, taking revenge and all that.”

“I never said it was mature,” the guy says. He pulls a shirt out of his locker and dresses quickly. When he turns to Dean again, his hair is even more dishevelled than before and his face is flushed.

“Oh?” Dean asks nonchalantly.

“It wasn’t mature,” the guy says angrily. “What I did was stupid and childish. I acted thoughtlessly and regretted it ever since. And you’re right, I _was_ ashamed to show up here again, but I did anyway. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I never had a chance. But at least I never laughed in your face the way you’re doing right now.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. When the guy cocks his head at him, Dean stutters, “You have a chance now?”

The guy’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Dean clears his throat. “I mean, you have a chance to say you’re sorry now, don’t you? But instead you keep on lecturing me.”

By the way the guy’s face scrunches angrily again, he knows it wasn’t the right thing to say.

“I’m not going to apologise,” he hisses. “You successfully changed my mind about that.”

Dean can feel heat rising up to his face too. “See? I knew you were an asshole.”

The guy groans and throws his hands up in frustration. “ _I’m_ the asshole?”

“Yes!” Dean snaps back, taking a step closer.

“You’re— you—”

“I’m what?” Dean challenges.

The guy stares at him, eyes stormy and lips pulled tight. “You’re the asshole! You never apologised and now you’re expecting me to beg for your forgiveness? Nothing would had even happened if you didn’t try to offer me your stupid advice in the first place!”

“Maybe if you didn’t react the way you did!” Dean bites back.

“I reacted the same way every normal person would have,” the guy growls.

“Yeah, if you could call ‘stuck up’ and ‘haughty’ normal,” Dean growls back.

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but not everyone is here to find potential dates,” the guys says. “Some are here to actually exercise.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “You think I was trying to pick you up?”

The guy narrows his eyes. “Are you going to deny it?”

Dean splutters. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I am. I wasn’t trying to pick you up, dude. I was only trying to be nice.”

The guy’s stare doesn’t waver. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you must have a high opinion of yourself,” Dean scoffs. “If you think every person that talks to you wants to get into your pants.”

The guy doesn’t answer; instead, his gaze flicks down, slowly, to Dean’s lips, then up again. Dean freezes – he realises how close they’re standing, right in each other’s personal space. He can see the guy’s eyes turn darker and he licks his lips almost unconsciously, his body moving forward before he can think about it.

The guy steps away immediately, his back thumping against his locker. The loud sound makes Dean stop and blink, a flush rushing to his face. 

“No, you’re right,” the guy says, voice quiet and satisfied. He looks Dean up and down, slowly, his eyes resting for a moment on the towel that’s still wrapped around Dean’s hips. “You were only being nice. My mistake.”

Flustered, Dean turns away without another word. His locker is on the other side of the room and he stumbles towards it, happy he can hide his face. Fuck that guy. He’s not gonna admit being interested in him, not now, not ever. It’s Dean’s business what he does and where he does it. The whole thing is stupid anyway.

It’s only when he reaches his locker and pulls out his clothes that he realises something: it’s gotten awfully quiet, now that they’re back to ignoring each other. But there’s more to it and he looks around slowly.

Even the music that usually fills the gym is gone now.

Slowly, Dean reaches for the phone he shoved into the pocket of his jeans. While they argued, the clock struck eleven without them noticing. Dean’s heart speeds up and he frowns. Surely, that could not have happened. The girl at the reception desk saw him leave for the locker room and is probably still waiting for him to go out. She wouldn’t just assume he’s gone, would she?

Still wearing only a towel, he makes his way towards the door. The Thighs Guy throws him a confused look as he passes him, but Dean ignores it. With his heart in his throat, Dean reaches out and pushes the door.

It doesn’t move.

There’s no knob on it, just a handle to push and pull. Dean tries to pull it – maybe he’s getting confused – but it still doesn’t budge. Frowning, Dean stares at it for a long moment, as if he could unlock it with his eyes only.

Then he turns back.

“Hey, asshole,” he calls out.

The guy leans out from behind his locker. “I have an actual name, you know,” he says gloomily and disappears again.

“I couldn’t be less interested in your name if I tried,” Dean says. “But it might interest you to learn that the door is closed.”

Slowly, the guy shows his face again. He’s frowning. “What do you mean, closed?”

Dean puts his hands in the air. “Locked. We’re locked here.”

“That’s not possible,” the guy says. He struts over to where Dean is standing and Dean moves out of the way and watches as he tries the door as well. “But… why? Alice must have known we’re still here.”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe she forgot. It’s late. Maybe she just wanted to go home.”

The guy looks at him. “What do we do now?”

“I guess we should call someone,” Dean says. “Maybe there’s a fire exit. Or a phone number to someone that works here.”

The guy nods, all business now. “You’re right. I’m going to finish getting dressed; you look around.”

Dean lets out a laugh. He points to his body, still clad only in a towel. “If anyone’s gonna finish getting dressed, it’s me.”

The guy glares at him. “I have to finish drying my hair,” he says and points to his head.

“You can do it _after_ we call for help,” Dean argues.

“So can you,” the guy bites back and then storms off.

“Well, fuck you!” Dean calls after him. When the guy doesn’t react, just goes back to his locker, Dean does the same. He’s slow in drying himself off and putting his clothes on. In the corner of his eye, he sees the guy return to the mirrors and turn on the hair dryer again.

Fuck that. Dean’s not gonna do all the work around here. He was the one that discovered they were locked in; he’s not gonna call for help while the asshole does nothing.

Once he’s done dressing, he looks around discreetly, but he can’t see anything that looks like a fire exit or the instructions for what to do in case of getting locked up here for the night. He catches the guy looking at him, but only shrugs, pulls out his phone, and logs into Facebook.

He thinks about posting about his situation, but it sounds ridiculous even in his head; he already knows Benny will never let him live it down, especially when he learns Dean was stuck here with his nemesis. From the other corner of the room he hears the guy sigh heavily, but ignores it. He can’t see him with the row of lockers between them, anyway.

“Hello?” the guy says. For a moment Dean thinks he’s calling out for him, but then he realises he’s on the phone. “Hi. This is going to sound strange, but I’m afraid I require your assistance.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I know what time it is. Hence my call,” the guy continues. “No, I’m not prank calling you. No, listen— No, I— Are you the owner of the Jupiter Fitness Center?” His voice raises significantly, growing angrier. 

Dean smirks to himself, but doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Well, yes, I need your help. I’m afraid your employee, Alice, left the gym tonight and locked me up in the locker room.”

Dean chuckles. He was right – it sounds ridiculous. He’s glad he’s not the one making that phone call.

“I don’t know how it happened, it just happened,” the guy barks into the phone. His voice echoes in the empty room. “She must have thought I’d left already. Anyway, could you please help me out? I’d really rather not spend my night here.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Dean taps away at his phone, bored.

“No, I don’t expect you to drive all the way here yourself,” the guy says loudly. “At least not yet. But if you could give me a number to Alice, then maybe I could call her myself and ask her to come back and let me out—”

Stupid. He’s not gonna get the number, what is he even thinking?

“Okay, then you call her. It’s either that, or I’m calling 911. I can’t see no other way, Mr. Johnson.”

911? Okay, that could be embarrassing, Dean thinks.

“Yes. I’ll wait. Thank you.”

There’s another frustrated sigh coming from the guy. Dean lets out one of his own as well and then decides to text Benny.

> Dean: _You’re never gonna believe what happened_

Benny still hasn’t answered, probably already asleep or otherwise occupied, by the time the Thighs Guy’s phone rings.

“Yes? She’s not picking up? Okay. What do we do now, then? Do you want me to call— Oh. Okay. Call him, then. Yes, thank you. I’ll wait.”

Dean wants to ask what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to give the guy an opportunity to ignore him. He stays quiet, then, and pulls up Tinder.

There are no new messages from Cas, obviously, but he’s got two new likes and one chat from the girl he liked recently. He responds with a short ‘hi’ and busies himself with looking through what Tinder has to offer him tonight.

Minutes pass, then a quarter, then half an hour. He hears the guy try to call someone (probably the owner) again, but to no avail. He also hears him walk around his corner of the room, shuffling through his locker and his bag. Dean stays put.

His phone is on silent, which is why he almost misses the new message. When he sees the name, his heart stops.

It’s Cas.

Dean almost dreads opening the message. He almost can’t believe it – just when he completely gave up on ever hearing from Cas again, he writes to him now? And what if he's only messaging him to say goodbye? 

Dean’s fingers shake when he taps the fire icon and opens the chat.

> catstiel: _Okay. I will go out with you._

Dean stares at his phone, blinking rapidly. He rubs at his eyes with his free hand and reads the message again.

It doesn’t change.

Without thinking, he responds.

> impala67: _Cas! Where have you been?_
> 
> catstiel: _I’ve been thinking a lot, Dean. About you, and about everything else._
> 
> catstiel: _I think I really like you. I like talking to you. I think I’m ready to take that risk._

Dean can feel his lips spreading in a wide smile and he can’t stop even when he hears the Thighs Guy’s phone ring on the other side of the room. He can hear the guy answer and talk, but he ignores it.

> impala67: _Oh man, I’m really glad to hear that_
> 
> impala67: _It doesn’t have to be a risk, you know? It’s just a DATE. It doesn’t have to be that serious_
> 
> impala67: _I like talking to you too. I can’t wait to finally meet you in person_

He waits for a moment, but Cas doesn’t answer. Dean’s buzzing inside, though, and now that he started talking, he can’t seem to stop. 

> impala67: _Even if it doesn’t work out – BUT I’M SURE IT WILL – we can just be friends_
> 
> impala67: _I’m not expecting anything_
> 
> impala67: _I swear_
> 
> impala67: _Cas_
> 
> impala67: _Shit did I scare you off again_

Dean is biting at his thumb when the Thighs Guy finishes talking on his phone and calls out, “One of the employees is coming to get us.”

Dean is too distracted to care now. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from his phone. 

“Cool,” he calls back.

“It’s going to be at least half an hour though,” the guy adds.

Dean ignores him. 

Cas sends him another message.

> catstiel: _You did not scare me off._
> 
> catstiel: _And while we’re on that topic, I’m sorry for disappearing. You guessed right – I got a little panicky for a moment. I’m sorry._
> 
> impala67: _Don’t be. It’s okay, I understand_
> 
> impala67: _I had a bad day and didn’t think before asking you out_
> 
> impala67: _I know what you think about online dating, and I should’ve remembered_
> 
> catstiel: _It’s not your fault, Dean. Actually, I had a bad day, too. Maybe I overreacted a little._
> 
> impala67: _What happened?_
> 
> catstiel: _Long story. I made a stupid mistake and did something I shouldn’t have, and it influenced another person. It was just a little too much to handle at the time._
> 
> impala67: _So what changed now? Why are you back?_

Cas takes a while to answer, and Dean is left slumping on the bench against his locker and staring down at his phone. He gets a message from the girl he texted before, but he deletes it without reading.

The Thighs Guy is quiet on the other side of the room. Dean is glad he’s staying there and not bothering him.

> catstiel: _I realised it was a cowardly thing to do. I didn’t want to leave without explaining myself_
> 
> catstiel: _I also realised I might dislike Tinder for what it represents and how it usually makes me feel, but I didn’t want to lose you just because I was afraid_
> 
> catstiel: _And I really missed talking to you._

Dean smiles stupidly, his heart beating fast but steady in his chest. It’s a weird feeling – he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like, whether he’s even mildly attractive at all – and yet he finds he doesn’t care. He also doesn’t believe nothing will come out of their date. He likes the guy, and while he’s kind of one of the best friends he's ever had, Dean doesn't think of him only as his friend. The way he talks, his sense of humour, the chemistry between them… you can’t lie about that.

It’s there.

> impala67: _I missed you too, Cas_
> 
> impala67: _A lot_
> 
> impala67: _And I’m so fucking happy you came back. Especially tonight_
> 
> catstiel: _Why is that?_

Dean shakes his head and laughs quietly as he types.

> impala67: _It was the worst day ever. It still is_
> 
> impala67: _Work was awful. That promotion I told you about? Still not getting it_
> 
> impala67: _I got into a stupid fight with one guy at the gym about nothing and it’s been kind of bugging me a lot_
> 
> impala67: _Also, you were gone. Duh._
> 
> impala67: _And now, believe it or now, I’m LOCKED AT THE SAME GYM. WITH THE SAME GUY._
> 
> impala67: _What a stupid coincidence, right?_

He’s thinking of what to write next and waiting for Cas’ answer when he hears the guy on the other side of the room move. He looks up, frowning, and stares at the guy that comes out from behind the lockers and just stands there, looking at him. His face is pale.

Dean lifts a brow. “You okay there, man?”

The guy opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything. Dean catches him looking at the phone in his hand, then shrugs and writes:

> impala67: _Please save me haha_

His phone pings. Dean frowns, thinking for a split second that Cas replied to him, but he can’t see anything.

That’s when he realises his phone is on silent. Slowly, he looks up and that’s when he notices it.

The Thighs Guy is holding a phone.

A phone that just pinged with a message.

He tears his gaze away from Dean and looks down at it. Dean stays where he is, not understanding what’s happening, and watches the guy type something.

Dean’s phone buzzes.

> catstiel: _Dean?_

Dean looks up so quickly, his neck hurts. 

“No,” he says quietly. 

The guy in front of him takes a deep breath.

Dean shakes his head. “No,” he repeats. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re Dean,” the guys says.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks.

The guy — Cas? — takes a small step towards him. “You’re Dean?” 

Dean stands up from the bench. “How— how’s that possible? It’s— no. No. Wait.”

Furiously, he begins typing.

> impala67: _If it’s really you – take off your shirt_

The guy’s phone makes a noise again, and he looks down at it. Then, slowly, he comes closer and puts it on the bench Dean has just vacated. Lifting his head and meeting Dean’s gaze, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and begins to tug it upwards.

That’s when Dean freaks out.

“No, wait,” he says and rushes over to catch Cas’ wrists and stop them in their place. Cas – fucking hell, it really is him! – gazes up at him, eyes blue and wide and gorgeous. 

Dean lets go of his wrists and gently catches his hands instead. Cas lets him.

“You’re Cas,” he says.

Cas nods.

“Holy shit,” Dean says.

Cas wrinkles his nose – and then he laughs. It’s quiet and soft and full of wonder, which is exactly how Dean feels. He laughs too, but he can’t stop staring at Cas.

“Not the expression I’d use,” Cas says. How come Dean has never noticed how low and amazing the guy’s voice is? And how his face is the most beautiful face he’s ever seen? “But I agree with the sentiment.”

“But wait,” Dean says. “Did you know this whole time?”

“Do I look as if I did?” Cas blinks at him. “No, Dean. I had no idea you were the same person. Maybe if I knew your name, I’d think twice about it. But it never occured to me.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “You never even mentioned going to the gym!”

“I never mentioned many things,” Cas says. “And neither did you.”

“But you— You— You’re different when we talk online,” Dean says weakly. He realises they’re still kind of holding hands and he moves back slowly, hesitant.

Cas lifts a brow at him. “You mean we don’t constantly fight when we talk online?”

Dean nods slowly. “Um. Yeah. That.”

Cas smiles, a small and amused thing. “We never even really had a conversation in real life. We never knew our real names. It wasn’t _real_.”

“You’re saying what we had online was… more real?” Dean asks.

Cas gazes into his eyes and nods slowly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean lets out a long breath. Cas keeps looking at him, eyes clear blue, no hint of the hatred Dean has seen so many times before. He looks at him as if he knows him.

Dean figures he kind of does.

“Okay,” Dean says quietly and steps away. “Give me a second.”

Cas frowns, but doesn’t say anything when Dean picks up his phone again. When Cas’ phone pings where it’s still on the bench, Dean bends down and passes it to him with a smile.

Cas looks down on the screen and Dean watches as a satisfied blush appears on his face. He looks up, eyes sparkling.

“Yes,” he says. “You can.”

Dean lets out a quiet laugh. Careless, he throws his phone away, closes the distance between them, and kisses Cas straight on the lips.

Cas responds immediately, melting into him and kissing him back. Dean rests his hands on Cas’ hips and tugs him closer, gentle, and Cas goes willingly, a soft satisfied sigh escaping his lips. He then pushes into Dean and Dean’s back meets the locker; Cas raises his arms and threads his fingers into Dean’s hair, his phone gone somewhere even without Dean noticing.

Dean’s hands tighten on Cas’ hips, fingers sneaking beneath Cas’ t-shirt and touching the naked skin there. Cas makes a low sound in his throat and licks into Dean’s lips hungrily, hands splayed on both sides of his head.

“Hello?”

It takes them a few seconds to realises someone is calling out, and when they do, they pull away quickly. They’re both breathing hard, lips reddened and eyes locked on each other. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Dean grins and watches, exhilarated, as Cas grins back at him. Then he looks up and yells, “Yeah, we’re here!”

A guy comes into view. He notices them, looks at the small distance between them, and frowns. He doesn’t say anything, though.

“Alright,” he says. “Door’s unlocked now. You can leave.”

“Thank you,” Cas says. His voice is low and raspy and it makes Dean shiver. “Let us take our things and we’ll be on our way.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. The guy is still looking at them all suspicious and Dean can’t help but laugh quietly. Cas sends him an amused look and shakes his head. Dean doesn’t say anything.

They part to gather their things; Dean can’t resist looking back over his shoulder at Cas’ retreating form and admiring the way his jeans cup those perfect thighs. He almost can’t believe his luck – he somehow managed to get both the person he likes and the person whose body he’s crazy about. How is that even possible?

Cas catches him looking and smiles, his face flushing. Dean grins.

The gym employee, still waiting for them by the door, clears his throat.

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Dean calls. He hears Cas chuckle and rolls his eyes at him.

When they’re finally out of the locker room and into the hall, Dean hears the employee murmur some kind of a half-hearted apology for the inconvenience. Dean stops and meets Cas eyes.

“No worries, man,” he says to the guy, his eyes not leaving Cas. Cas sends him a small smile. “It’s forgiven.”

Dean was right – this gym is totally his favourite place around here.


	5. Chapter 5

## Epilogue

***

Castiel is still fiddling with his tie, Freddie watching him curiously from his spot on the bed, when his phone pings with a new message. He squints at the tie that doesn’t want to stay straight and sighs. It’s hopeless, anyway, and he’s going to be late soon.

He sprints to the kitchen to make sure Freddie has enough food, then makes a beeline for the wrapped gift that sits on the kitchen table. For a moment, he stands in the middle of the room, looking around and trying to make sure he has done everything he needed to do before going out. 

Then his phone chirps again and, with a curse muttered under his breath, Cas goes back to his bedroom to retrieve it.

> Dean: _I’m outside your building, hurry up_
> 
> Dean: _If you don’t, I’m coming up_

Cas smiles mindlessly at his phone, always glad to see Dean’s actual name among his text messages. They both abandoned Tinder soon after their actual first date – which wasn’t half as bad as Castiel had imagined it to be, considering they had to work through liking each other online and hating each other’s guts in real life. But they pushed through it, miraculously, and have been on a dozen more dates since then, every one better than the last.

The last few of them actually lasted well through the night.

Dean and Freddie really like each other.

The pancakes Dean made one morning were the best thing Cas has ever had for breakfast.

Castiel really loves seeing Dean waking up right beside him.

And now, over a month since they started dating, they’re going to a wedding together. The feeling of sending the RSVP with the plus one option marked ‘yes’ will probably not leave Castiel for quite a long time.

The knock on his door shakes Castiel out of his reverie. Freddie sends him a curious look and then sprints out to the hall to wait by the door as Cas goes over to open it. 

When he sees Dean, looking incredibly handsome in his black suit and tie, wearing a brilliant smile that seems to be reserved just for Castiel, his heart almost leaps out of his chest.

“I told you to hurry up,” Dean says and pushes inside Cas’ apartment.

“I was just about to go—”

Castiel doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before Dean is on him. He pins him to the wall, hands braced on both sides of Castiel’s head, his lips hot and impatient on Castiel’s lips. With a pleased moan, Castiel kisses him back just as hungrily, back arching to rub his body shamelessly against Dean’s.

Dean kisses his way up Cas’ jawline. “Hello, gorgeous,” he purrs, one hand sneaking into Castiel’s hair.

Castiel wants to grab him and pull him closer, but he’s still holding the gift and his phone. With a low growl, he pushes Dean away.

“Cas, what—”

“You’re going to ruin our present,” Castiel explains, as he quickly puts the box and his phone down on the ground, and then reaches out. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean goes willingly, his lips back on Castiel’s, pushing his tongue in, both hands on Castiel’s hips. With his hands now free, Castiel is able to run them through Dean’s soft hair and grip his arms when Dean grinds their hips together. 

“I thought you were afraid we were going to be late,” Castiel says breathlessly.

Dean licks against Castiel’s neck, drops kisses on the tender skin behind his ear. “No,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips in a slow, tantalizing motion, making Castiel’s eyes flutter closed. “I just couldn’t wait to see you, all dressed up and dapper as fuck.”

Castiel slides his hands down Dean’s shoulders to his crotch, pressing against the bulge already forming in Dean’s elegant suit pants. Dean’s hips buck up, breath coming out hot and fast against Cas’ ear. 

“We still have some time, don’t we?” he whispers, voice tense.

Castiel sneaks his fingers behind Dean’s belt. “Just a moment,” he says and he pushes his hands down Dean’s pants.

Dean groans and presses closer, almost melting against him as Castiel wraps one hand around Dean’s cock and starts moving it up and down. He catches Dean’s lips in a fervent kiss, then thinks better about it and moves away.

“We should actually be careful with the clothes,” he says quietly, delighted to hear Dean’s breathless laugh.

He makes quick work of unbuckling Dean’s pants all the way and letting them fall down to the ground together with his underwear. He makes sure Dean’s white shirt is safe, too, and when he finally brings Dean to completion, it’s with clean clothes and Dean’s satisfied groan.

“You’re fucking awesome, Cas,” Dean hums against his throat, then slowly sinks to his knees. Castiel closes his eyes and lets him do all the work, bracing himself against the wall and even forgetting himself a little with the way he loudly voices his enthusiasm about Dean’s mouth on his cock.

When they’re done, they tumble into Castiel’s small bathroom to quickly wash off and make sure they look presentable again. Cas catches Dean grinning at him in the mirror and can’t help but grin back. They’re both flushed, eyes sparkling merrily. Dean reaches out and flattens Castiel’s unruly hair with his hand, then leans in and plants a kiss on his lips.

“I’m so happy you’re going there with me,” Castiel murmurs before he can stop himself. 

Dean’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. “I’m happy you invited me.”

“You know there is no one else I could take with me.”

“What about that blond guy at the gym?” 

Cas scowls. “Bartholomew? You know very well I don’t like him.”

Dean laughs. “You didn’t like _me_ just a few weeks ago. That didn’t stop you from luring me with your charms.”

“I lured _you_? I have no idea what you’re talking about. It was you who pranced around with your arms bare and your muscles out.”

“What? Dude, have you seen your thighs?” Dean laughs, then his face goes slightly red. 

Castiel tilts his head at him. “My _thighs_?”

Dean looks away, biting his lips to stop from laughing. “I might have referred to you as the Thighs Guy before I knew your name,” he admits. 

“You’ve never told me that,” Castiel says, blinking, but he can feel himself flushing proudly too. 

“Well. Now you know.”

With a smile, Castiel leans in and kisses him. They both linger for a moment, Dean’s hand sliding slowly up Castiel’s arm to stop against his neck. When they pull away, Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes.

“Well, now I know,” he says quietly. “And I plan on using that.”

Dean flushes again, and when they kiss, Castiel touches his face. Dean waggles his eyebrows when they part, grin tugging at his lips.

“That sounds amazing, Cas,” he says, “but right now, what do you say we go to that wedding and have some good times?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Remember to go check out Busy's art post [(art masterpost here)](https://bs-acorns.tumblr.com/post/184582284573) and leave all the kudos and likes for her!


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